


¡golazo!

by kalakauuas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Football | Soccer, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Snapchat, Soccer Coach Lance, broganes, my favorite tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakauuas/pseuds/kalakauuas
Summary: "goal!"Shirodefinitelyhas a crush on his little brother's soccer coach, and he may or may not be content never doing anything about it. Although, he's just as content with the coach in question doing something about it."Fuck, okay, so he has a Problem—yes, Problem with a capital P, because this isn’t something minor like his tendency to lose earrings or slight dependence on kiwi-apple Redbull. This Problem is a lot more serious and a lot harder to get over, considering it has a smile that could rival the sun itself, and chocolatey hair that Shiro would absolutely love to run his hands through. Not to mention the fact that he has to face it two hours a day, five days a week, because one way or another it’s always him that ends up taking Keith to practice during the summer."





	¡golazo!

**Author's Note:**

> this was gonna be way longer, but I lost steam to actually finish
> 
> lance is 18, shiro is 20, keith is 15 and latinx (but it's subtle and not new among my works)
> 
> enjoy! (hopefully there aren't too many errors)

**Keith [4:36]**

_dad said you’re taking me to practice??? it’s at 5:30 today_

 

 **Keith [5:02]  
** _where even are you!  
_ _no que you were off work at 4!_

 

 **Keith [5:13]  
** _shiro_  
_shiro!!!!!!_  
_did you die_  
_you ALWAYS answer my calls wtf!?  
_ _shiro oh god_

 

 **Shiro [5:21]  
** _Keith I’m On my way!_  
_*omw_  
_my phone died at work I’m so sorry  
_ _I just plugged it into my car_

 

He’s pulling up to the front of the house and honking, which he never does, but Keith is already waiting outside with his stuff. His arms are crossed, brows set into that sullen look that only 15 year olds seem to be capable of.

 

“You’re late,” he says, all but chucking his bag in.

 

“I know, I got here as fast I could,” Shiro replies while adjusting the tassel that hangs from his rearview mirror. He won’t tell Keith he was buying shoes at the mall after he finished his shift. “Buckle up. You know this car doesn’t move otherwise.”

 

Keith huffs—Shiro doesn’t see his eyeroll so much as feel it—but he obliges anyway.

 

“Can you maybe not drive 35 miles under the speed limit please? If I miss warmup drills again you know Coach is gonna make me do a million burpees.”

 

Shiro turns up the radio to drown out Keith’s whining. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had your license for a few years and could tell me how to drive,” he says, not without a teasing lilt. His fingers tap out the rhythm against the steering wheel.

 

The younger teen makes a noise not unlike a dying animal. Shiro takes pity on him and steps on it, pulling swiftly into the dirt parking lot and parking the car wherever it ends up so his brother can grab his bag and run out to the field. Meanwhile, Shiro lags behind a bit, waiting out the rest of the song because he actually really likes Harry Styles.

 

It ends way too soon, which means Shiro needs to get out of the car, find a spot, and listen to the soccer moms and dads yell at their sons, all while trying desperately to not melt into a literal puddle of goo at the sight of Keith’s assistant coach. He slouches forward in his seat at the thought, but the brim of his cap bumps into the steering wheel, which jars him and makes the horn sound. Shit. Hopefully no one noticed. He slumps back instead to look through the car’s sunroof.

 

Fuck, okay, so he has a Problem—yes, Problem with a capital P, because this isn’t something minor like his tendency to lose earrings or slight dependence on kiwi-apple Redbull. This Problem is a lot more serious and a lot harder to get over, considering it has a smile that could rival the sun itself, and chocolatey hair that Shiro would absolutely _love_ to run his hands through. Not to mention the fact that he has to face it two hours a day, five days a week, because one way or another it’s always him that ends up taking Keith to practice during the summer.

 

(Sometimes, when Matt is feeling bold, he’ll remind Shiro that there is actually nothing _forcing_ him to stay for Keith's—a 15 year old boy with a cellphone and high capacity for self defense—soccer practices aside from his poorly-crafted excuse of efficiency and need to suffer. Shiro ignores him when this happens, because he refuses to believe that Matt is the more sensible one between them.)  

 

Anyways. He should probably stop waxing poetic and just go sit down. At least when his infatuation starts getting the better of him he’ll already be supported, should his knees go weak again.

 

It’s ten minutes before he shamefully caves and hastily opens Snapchat for his daily update to Matt. The picture is blurry, but it is unmistakably him, looking _unfairly fine_ with that serious expression on his face. Shiro would willingly jump into the nearest river if it meant Coach Cutie Pie (how does he still not know his name?) would raise his eyebrow at _him_ like that, and he doesn’t even know how to swim. He captions the picture: _“the tank top is back today”_ plus a few dizzy-faced emojis and sends it off.

 

Sheesh. Speaking of eyebrows, CCP has some well-sculpted arches. They’re delicately shaped, high above his eyelids and so expressive, and don’t exactly scream “I’m **straight!”** which is what has kept Shiro hopeful these past few weeks. That, and the recurring “tight jeans paired with near-crop top” outfits; Shiro is positive the small peeks of tanned flat stomach aren’t the result of washing malpractice. At the very least, he probably bats for both teams—or, scores in either goal, if you will.

 

His phone buzzes. It’s Matt.

 

_N.E.R.D is typing…_

 

**N.E.R.D**

 

> >YOOOOOOOOOO  
>  >BASED TANK TOP  
>  >;) ;) ;) ;)

 

Yeah. Shiro agrees.

 

**Me**

 

> >the lord smiles upon me today  
>  >and every day I get to see him

 

He taps on the camera icon, and brings up the floating heat filter to grace his face. Shiro’s expression is nothing short of fond, cheek propped up on his hand while he looks in the direction of Coach Cutie Pie. Just for fun, he saves it to his memories before sending it away to Matt as well.

 

Between scrolling through various apps, staring at the dark freckles splashed across CCP’s shoulders, and making mental notes on what Keith is struggling with today (because he’s the only one Keith will listen to when it comes to soccer advice, y’know, given the scholarship and all), two hours pass by pretty quickly. Coach Cepeda blows his whistle to gather up the boys, tells them the plan for next practice, and then prompts the captains to do the closing chant before he sends them off. Shiro mentally joins in, because Cepeda has been teaching his kids that chant since before he coached Shiro years ago. It’s a classic.

 

Keith is looking around for him, so Shiro starts making his way over, but with his entire field of vision being taken up by CCP chewing his lip and creasing his eyebrows cutely while looking at a clipboard, he doesn’t anticipate the rail that his knee manages to slam into. It’s loud, and painful. A few concerned parents are eyeing him; Shiro stiffens, gives them a nervous laugh and waves it off because he does not need to draw attention to himself lest it be revealed that he was drooling over the assistant coach. That’s not really something everyone here needs to be privy to. He’s way too dumb to be in public, honestly, that’s why he would never have a chance with CCP, who—

 

“Shiro! Can we go, please? I’m hungry.” Keith crosses his arms, looking agitated as usual.

 

God his knee hurts. “You’re always hungry. Is there food at home?” The way Keith replies with a “Mmm, no,” lets Shiro know that there is food at home, but his dad made it, so.

 

Shiro checks his phone.

 

_7:37_

 

_N.E.R.D took a screenshot!  
_

_N.E.R.D is typing…_

 

“Well,” he says, “I could take you to Junior’s, but mom is probably going to get mad that we keep going out to eat after practice…” He twirls his keys around his finger, raising an eyebrow at Keith, who gives him a sly look in return.

 

“If you take me I’ll eat the entire quesadilla this time, with crema and everything,” Keith promises. He smirks because he knows Shiro is wrapped around his baby-brother finger, blood relations be damned. Shiro sighs.

 

By now, there are only a few cars left in the parking lot: some parent’s SUV, Shiro’s heavily-angled Audi, and Cepeda’s ancient Ford at the far far end.

 

“Hey!” yells someone from behind them.

 

Shiro turns around, and feels his soul ascend when he sees it’s none other than CCP, calling to hi—them with a friendly wave and even friendlier smile. He’s backlit by the sun, looking even more angelic than usual.

 

“Why don’t you go turn the car on,” Shiro suggests, a little distracted, as he woodenly hands Keith the keys. He almost doesn’t catch his brother’s snort as he walks away, because Keith is well aware that Shiro would never surrender his keys under normal circumstances.

 

“Hey,” CCP says again. He’s like four feet away and he smells really good, Old Spice Fiji? Shiro is reeling. Be cool, man, come on. “Sorry, but can I borrow your phone? Mine just died and I need to send a quick text, if you don’t mind.”

 

Of course Shiro doesn’t mind. The mere idea is laughable; how could he ever mind? The potential love of your life approaching you specifically to ask for help, who could ever mind that? Of course you can borrow my phone, CCP. You can have it, if you want. Can have my car keys, my debit card, my hand in marriage too, fuck it. He _really_ wouldn’t mind that.

 

“Uh, it’s okay if you say no, man. It’s not a huge deal,” CCP says lightly, because Shiro is too busy imagining the first time they’re gonna hold hands to have even bothered answering. Code red: he keeps embarrassing himself.

 

“No! Or, I mean, it’s no problem at all. Here.” Shiro fumbles with the phone and hands it over to CCP, who taps around on it a bit, types something up. He looks over to the two cars parked nearest to them.

 

“You see that gray car over there?” Shiro looks where he’s pointing. CCP, with a little smirk that only reveals one of his dimples, says, “That person doesn’t know how to park.”

 

That gray car? That’s Shiro’s car, and he knows how to park. How dare he suggest otherwise? If he wasn’t running late earlier, that car would be right in between those lines no problem. Today was an anomaly, because Shiro knows how to park.

 

“I know how to park,” he tells CCP, who laughs, honey-dipped.

 

CCP gives him his phone back, then nonchalantly pulls out his own from the pocket of those sinfully tight jeans, unlocking it and then posing for a winking selfie.

 

Shiro feels his mouth gape. What the heck was CCP just using his phone for then? Stealing his identity? When he looks down at it, he sees that it’s still unlocked and opened to Snapchat. At the top of his recents is a new snap from _Lance,_ with the two pink hearts emoji. Shiro doesn’t know anyone named Lance, or at least he didn’t before.

 

When he draws his eyes back up to CCP—Lance, actually—he sees those smooth lips pulled into a grin. Wow, he is so cute.

 

“You think you’re sneaky?” Shiro can’t help but smile as well, cocking an eyebrow. Lance shrugs.

 

“Well, you’ve been a little too busy gawking to do much else. I don’t mind sending you pictures, since they last longer.”

 

Is he dead? Is Shiro dead? He’s gotta be, because the wink that followed what is essentially the worst callout Shiro has ever experienced ever is nothing short of superhuman. And here he was, foolishly under the impression that it wasn’t obvious.The air is a little thin up here in the clouds where his head’s at currently.

 

Also, who’s laughing? Shiro? God. “Hah, I guess it’s me who isn’t very sneaky then,” he says weakly. He shoves both hands into his pockets to hide the shaking, but who’s to say Lance hasn’t noticed that too. He adds, “Sorry for being so creepy.”

 

Lance chuckles. “No, I get it. You were so intimidated by my charm and dashing good looks that it left you awestruck. It happens.” When Shiro just stares, he goes red. “I mean—”

 

He’s cut off by a ringtone that doesn’t belong to Shiro. Lance answers it with a hushed “Dad, ya voy,” before quickly hanging up and pocketing the phone. “I’m sorry, I should probably get going before I get left here.”

 

There’s the obnoxious, drawn out screech of the car horn right then. Keith’s entire upper body is hanging out the window, expression set to absolutely withering. Shiro can’t help but shudder; teenagers are terrifying. “Same here. Keith looks like he’s ready to take a bite out of my leather seats.”

 

That sweet laugh again. Lance pushes the hair off his forehead; Shiro finds himself looking carefully at his peaked hairline. “You should feed him then! So… I’ll see you next practice?”

 

Shiro nods a little too eagerly for his own liking. “Absolutely.”

 

“Perfect. Also,” Lance is making his way to the other side of the parking lot. “Feel free to screenshot! But only if you reply back!”

 

Right. The snapchat is still there, red box waiting to reveal its treasure to Shiro and Shiro only. He doesn’t want to open it here, he can’t, so he just looks at it, rooted to his spot. _Lance._ Two pink hearts. 6 minutes ago. _Lance. Lance LanceLanceLanceLanceLa—_

 

The unmistakable snarl of Cepeda’s truck brings him back to earth. It passes by him and, from the passenger side, Lance waves cheerfully through the window while Coach gives him a nod from behind.

 

Huh. Figures.

 

Keith starts honking again so Shiro runs over, shoving him back into his seat and starting the car properly so they can finally leave, at which Keith all but belts out his gratitude to god. Later, when quesadillas are ordered and not finished, and they go home to get scolded half-heartedly by Shiro’s mom ( _“You boys know there’s food at home!”_ ), Shiro finally gets the courage to open his snaps. The first one is Matt’s reply to his selfie, which has been put back in the chat with enormous heart stickers pasted over Shiro’s eyes, beneath it: _“the face of someone madly in loveeeeeee”_

 

His face itches with a blush; Shiro is glad he’s by himself in his room for no one to see. A weary-faced emoji and some OK fingers are going to have to do, because he really can’t create a proper response to that.

 

He wants to laugh at himself.

 

When he looks at Lance’s snap, still unopened and mockingly red, his stomach swoops as if he’s on a rollercoaster. He knows exactly what to expect: a winking selfie taken with the sun behind him and casting an ethereal light, Shiro nearby but not pictured, suffering from premature cardiac arrest. Typical stuff.  A smile pulls at his lips when he remembers that they _talked,_ they laughed and exchanged some kind of contact information all of two hours ago, after weeks of pining on Shiro’s behalf.

 

Geez, Lance probably took pity on him for looking like a lost puppy. That’s probably the only reason he even talked to Shiro at all. He’s always been one to try and seem like he has it all under control, and it usually works. Lance catching him in weak moments like he’s been doing makes Shiro feel endlessly stupid. If he caught on from a distance, then who else has noticed?

 

Ugh. His self-talk needs to quit. It’s okay, _it’s okay._ A less than stellar first impression isn’t enough to knock him down for the count. He’ll just have to do a little work to correct it and never has Shiro been one to shy away from some hard work. So he wills his heart to slow down, please, and taps on the screen. Except he taps too fast and skips it and _fuck_ —now he has to replay it. Or he doesn’t. Not like Lance would know he didn’t see the picture. But.

 

Shiro replays it. And screenshots it with no hesitation. He’s just doing what Lance said to. Which means! He has to reply! The amount of tries it takes for him to take a worthy selfie is a little embarrassing, but once he gets it, Shiro draws on some red blush lines with the caption _“me being grateful”_.

 

He gets the notification almost immediately.

 

_Lance took a screenshot!_


End file.
